Ruminations

One day he was just there. She could feel him watching her as she walked the familiar paths of the wood, just out of sight, but not mind.

She found footprints indented into the soft fallen leaves, feet wide and sturdy, different to her own. Once you'd been alone for as long as she had everything took on a distinctive meaning, from the tiniest broken twig to the way the tree limbs bobbed and blew. Nature had a way of predicting itself that was both refreshing and gentle, mellowness that in her emotional state she needed a lot.

Huddled in the corner of her basic wooden hut, she tried to warm herself against the autumn chill. Against the promise of winter.

Her baby had grown big inside her, like the apples swelling patiently on the tall trees before falling and rolling to carry their seed elsewhere. The baby had become an accepted part of her life, catering for her moods, her loves, her hates. The new presence made her anxious though, although she knew no hurt would befall her, or her baby, after all it was destined to be born, the faint feeling of worry coursing through her felt good again. The faint feeling of anything felt good again.

A sharp rap on the door jolted her to her senses. For the first time she was properly aware of the world around her, seeing the rotting damp wood of her home, the spiders who had made their homes up high, faintly remembering she used to hate them. It was like remembering a different person.

The door hung crookedly on its hinges. This had been her last act of defiance against life, should anyone want to end her they could barge through that door without so much as batting an eyebrow. But as of yet no one had, in fact no one had even come near her hut, this was an area of the woods protected by ancient magic. Ancient Green magic. Her child would be safer here than in a fortress.

She opened the creaking plank of wood slowly, not afraid, but cautious none-the-less. Before her stood a black cloaked figure.

The first thought that ricocheted through her head was coloured by terror. Long nights spent watching, haunted days, tear drops of agony, everything flashed through her mind, as vivid as the day the memories had been sculpted.

The second, more rational thought, followed at a slower pace, taking its time for her brain to digest what she was seeing. A memory floated to the surface of her murky mind of a similar time when the Boy Who Lived had appeared on her doorstep, seeking shelter and escape from the bombardment of hatred. This was not Harry Potter though; she had seen him die, side-by-side with her brother and his unofficial wife, Ron and Hermione Weasley. But she had not cried. By then she had had no tears left.

No, she knew exactly who this was. Really, she had known all along, since the first time when she had put her foot into the print and absently marvelled at the difference.

"Ginny Weasley?" asked a husky voice, coming from the depths of the dark fabric.

"No," she replied without hesitation. "She died a long time past."

He pushed wordlessly past her, taking up all the room in her tiny hut, making it seem smaller than it really was. He slipped the cloak from broad shoulders that had been moulded in the ranks of war and upheld by the adrenalin of fighting, wrapping it firmly around her.

He then set about building a fire in the neglected fireplace. Manually, she noted, he too couldn't bring himself to use magic. Part of her was shamed at their collective fear and part was proud for the breaking of the cycle.

The firelight soon glinted off his silver hair, throwing reflection and light onto her pupils, making her remember days of forgetfulness and tenacity, where tomorrow was still a gift and the present still a blessing.

Mutely he swathed her in himself, drawing her close to him, letting them feed off each other's body heat. With the crackling of the flames as a backdrop and a degree of heat vibrating through her, the redheaded young woman slept better than she had for years.

Deep down, she know the twist of him coming here was a meander that fate had to take. Her baby and her would not survive otherwise. But she still despised him for everything he had done, and everything that he hadn't done

Draco Malfoy was a part of her life once again, but not a part of her heart. Nothing stirred in her frozen heart except the responsibility of motherhood, which became more restless with every passing day.